Frank, Ben Harris [best authors to read txt] 📗

The change of the leaf gave new meaning to the day, the turning brown hues reflecting those of Franks own transition in life. He had been walking with no real aim or purpose for around three hours, just looking at the couples holdings hands, the homeless clinging to their jaded memories, and the youth abundant in the form of skateboarding hellions.

He found an empty bench beside the park pathway and sat down to rest his legs. Propping the weathered walking cane beside him, he settled into a comfortable position and retrieved his hunting hip flask from his Parker pocket and took a deep swig. The whiskey burned through him and he let out an appreciative sigh.

"Hey mister, you got the time?" came a docile slurring that can only be attributed to the young. Frank took in the image of a bespectacled, pimply and what only could be described as 'studded' boy.

"Yes, my lad. It's,” he consulted his aged Rolex, “coming up to the hour of three o’clock. Does that help you?"

"Shit, I was supposed to meet my girlfriend here at three. Have you seen her?"

Frank once more looked at the youth and judged his age at around fourteen, although he was no great judge of age. "I'm afraid I've seen no girl, not here anyway. What does she look like?"

"I dunno, short... with black hair?" The boy gestured her height with his hand.

"Well sit down and wait a bit, I'm sure she's just taking her time. Ladies are always late you know, lad, that's something you’ll have to get used to." He moved his cane and the boy slumped onto the bench.

"Boy, you look like you have several monkeys on your back," said Frank, chuckling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The boy turned and looked at him in that angry and defensive way only youths can manage.

"Calm down son, I wasn't taking the mick. I just meant that you look troubled, like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The boy visibly relaxed, but with an air of resignation.

"Yeah, you could say that." He retrieved his phone and tapped a few buttons. "Damn, she's going to kill me. The bloody batteries died."

"I dare say she will son, another thing you learn is to take the scoldings with good humour, but keep your head held high."

"Yeah, I suppose mate, but I have things that…" He sunk lower on the bench, as if willing for it to ingest him and mumbled into his jacket.

"Oh yeah, what troubles you?" Frank was beginning to be intrigued by the spotty boy.

"Nuffin, forget about it," he said with a sulky drawl.

“Well, if you say so. Far be it for me to intrude...”

“My girlfriend is pregnant, all right, Mister!? Now leave it, will you!” The boys head jutted out of his coat like a frenzied turtle.

Frank turned. It was his turn to give an exasperated sigh. “Well, I take it she wants to keep it?”

“Yes, of course. She says she can get council house easier with a kid, but bollocks to that, I'm only fifteen!”

“Too young,” Frank agreed, nodding his head. He took another swig from the hip flask.

Then there was silence between them, complete strangers as alien to one another as if different life forms, but still, some kind of kinship there underneath the layers of time and social division.

“I've got a granddaughter about your age. I worry about her sometimes.” Frank didn't know why he said this, only that he was voicing his inner thoughts.

“Yeah, well, good for you.” He started to pick one of his more volcanic pimples.

“Look, have you tried talking to her, telling her how you feel about it?” Frank hoped he wasn't prying too much, but felt sympathy for the boy.

“Of course, but she doesn't listen. It’s all, 'This is happening to me,’ and ‘our baby is inside of me,' then she starts crying and so I give up trying.

“Yes, life is hard, lad.” He started to nod, which people adopt when they can't think of what else to say. .

“Wait up, Mister, here she comes. Don't say a word, she'll kill me if she knows I've said anything.”

Frank turned in the direction of the boys gaze, to see the slender figure of a girl engulfed in a large hoodie. Trailing behind her was a battered Nike rucksack. He could see the same girl two years before trailing a teddy bear or her battered security blanket.

The boy vaulted off his seat.

“Where the hell have you been, Becky?”

“Becky?” Frank blinked as if contemplating the reality of the situation.

The girl looked up at him and removed her hood.

“Granddad, what are you doing here?”

Publication Date: 01-03-2010

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